


Hipster 101

by slashsailing



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hipsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Poetry, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:28:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashsailing/pseuds/slashsailing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on an anonymous tumblr prompt: </p><p>A Hipster!AU where Bones is a med student who goes to a cafe, specifically on open mic nights when this certain kid reads poetry and when Christine comes with Bones one night and laughs at him the whole time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hipster 101

The dork wears glasses, they’re over-sized frames that are reminiscent of Patrick Dempsey’s in  _Can’t Buy Me Love._ But we’re not in the eighties anymore and it frustrates Leonard to high heck. Then there’s the skinny jeans and the tucked-in, buttoned-up Aztec print shirt, it may or may not be stiff-cotton, Leonard hasn’t got close enough to touch it yet. Last week it was a too-big, dark green, sweatshirt - it would have definitely been big enough to fit across Leonard’s broader shoulders and he’s pretty sure it would have been fleecy inside. Then there was the week before when he was wearing that ridiculously tight black t-shirt under an  _acid wash_  jean jacket. 

Leonard  _hates_ this kid. 

And his big blue eyes and that stupid blonde hair. 

 _God_  Leonard wants to kiss him. 

A lot. 

Naked. 

Then he won’t have to worry about those damn skinny jeans and the array of fucking Chuck Taylors this kid seems to own. 

Leonard doesn’t even  _like_  the Beatniks. 

Allen Ginsberg can go to  _Hell_. 

Might even be there already. 

_"…who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated, who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war…"_

This kid’s voice is a relentless force inside Leonard’s head. He’s enraptured by the droll monotony of the poem, watching the fire build inside the kid. It’s like he loves every word, cradles it close to his chest before he presents it to the world. 

And Leonard wants to _taste_  every word. He wants the kid to whisper them just to him, right into his own lips; in the glow of moonlight on an abandoned roof somewhere in the middle of the Castro. 

Leonard’s just as much of a filthy hipster as this kid is. With his fucking smiley piercing and his keds. He hates himself for it but he can’t stop. 

"Paging Doctor Drooling." Christine whispers, shoving at his shoulder. 

"Shh." Leonard hushes, not tearing his gaze away from the kid on the stage, reciting  _Howl_ from memory as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

"You got it bad, Leo." Christine smirks. "Is this what the roll-ups and the too big vest is about? Christ it’s strange seeing you out of scrubs, if I knew the piercing was an indication of the madness within I’d have steered clear." She adds with a derisive smile. "Also, did you buy that hoodie from the female section of H&M?" 

"Shut up." Leonard huffs. "I can dress however I damn well like." It’s  _not_  from the female section, it’s designed to be  _fitted_  and men can wear mauve if they want to. 

"And frequent pretentious little coffee houses all you like, I just don’t know why you dragged me here." Christine grins. 

"You  _invited_  yourself.” Leonard counters, angry-whispering. 

_"…who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts, who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy, who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love…”_

Leonard’s jaw drops, this kid cannot talk about  _sex_. No. It’s not fair. It just makes Leonard’s heart hurt in the most disgusting way and his fingers even more antsy to undo the buttons of that gross shirt. 

He’s even got tattoos on his finger notches. Probably an anchor and a diamond and a crown and a cross and he rubs over them as if it’s helping him keep his focus, maintaining his tempo. 

Leo hasn’t dared to get a tattoo because of having to conceal it for work, that was the logic behind the smiley piercing, he can put a small bar in during his shifts and keep it hidden. He’s a doctor, dammit, not a hipster. 

"He doesn’t sound Californian." Christine whispers. 

"I know." Leonard murmurs. 

"Have you spoken to him yet?" She wonders. 

"No." Leonard pouts, flicking his eyes to Christine and then back up to the kid. 

"How long have you been coming here?" She asks, and there is pity there, Leonard can feel it. 

"Seven weeks." Leonard huffs. "I know it sounds pathetic." 

"Or romantic maybe, if you’re a dirty hipster, I wouldn’t know myself." She jibes. 

"I hate you." 

"But I’m your  _favourite_  nurse.” She grins. 

"I should have gone back to Georgia for my residency." Leonard mutters. 

"Who’s Moloch?" Christine asks as the kid on stage starts to rant profanely, there is still a nonchalance to his tone but Leonard can tell that he’s building towards the climax - that soon he’ll reach his crescendo. 

It makes Leonard think about orgasms. 

"Some ancient God." Leonard shrugs. 

"This poem is strange." She whispers. 

"I hate it." Leonard huffs. 

"No you don’t." 

"No, I don’t." He agrees. 

"You think he could maintain that much composure while you were fucking him?" She wonders. 

“ _Christine_.” He scolds. 

_“They bade farewell! They jumped off the roofl to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!”_

He finishes, and the audience cheer, like they have been throughout the performance, like the kid’s recitation demands that they do. 

Leonard claps too, just gently though, before he sups back the last of his coffee and goes to stand. 

"You can’t just  _go_.” Christine says. “You need to  _talk_  to him.” She urges. 

"I  _can’t_ , he’s like,  _eighteen_.” Leonard huffs. 

"You’re twenty four, Leo, not thirty.  _Christ,_  would you just go and buy him a coffee or something.” She counters, folding her arms sternly. So he sighs and heads in the direction of the counter, standing behind the kid, pretending to browse the pastry selection. 

"You were great tonight." Leonard says, when he catches the blonde giving him a few side-glances as he also stares intently at the pastries. 

"Thanks." He smiles, turning towards Leonard. "Some people don’t get  _Howl_ but I, I really like it.” He admits, like it’s a secret, just for him and Leonard. 

"I could see that." Leonard agrees, stepping slightly closer to the kid so as to get out of the way of other patrons who just want to get their coffee and go. "What’re you recitin’ next week?"

"Some Larkin maybe, or Bernstein." He shrugs. 

"No more Beatniks?" Leonard counters. 

"You know I like to do something different every week." The kid says, with a pointed look - Leonard feels his cheeks heat. He’s not been as inconspicuous as he thought he had, the kid’s actually noticed his presence and  _oh God_ that’s embarrassing. 

"Well I, ah-"

"I like seeing you each week. It’s reassuring, I ah, I used to get kinda nervous." The kid admits with a shrug. "I’m Jim, by the way."

"Leonard." 

"Leonard?" Jim repeats, disbelieving. 

"Wha’s wrong with Leonard?" He questions. 

"You don’t look like a Leonard." Jim shrugs. 

"Well it’s the only name I got." The doctor scoffs. 

"I’ll think of something." Jim grins. "Say, what week have you liked best so far?" 

"When you did the last part of Ash Wednesday." Leonard admits. 

"Ah, so you’re a modernist?" 

"I’m a doctor actually." Leonard says with a little smirk. "Or trainin’ for it anyhow." 

"A doctor who likes modernist poetry then?" Jim suggests and Leonard nods. 

"I was kinda hoping you’d do some Lawrence." He shrugs. 

"Bones." Jim states, very self-satisfied. 

"Bones?" Leonard questions. 

"Yeah, from Dylan Thomas’ A _nd death shall have no dominion,_ I ah, I like the lines about ‘when their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone, they shall have stars at elbow and foot’. And ah, you’re a doctor, right? So death has no dominion, not if you have anything to say about it.” Jim explains, inclining his face slightly closer to Leonard’s.

"I sure hope so." Leonard smiles, looking at the kid like he’s crazy, he sort of wants to push Jim’s glasses further up the bridge of his nose and kiss him. "Let me buy you coffee." He offers instead. 

"And a pastry?" Jim wonders, eyes playful and his smile impish. Leonard shakes his head, trying to hide his smile and the fact that he’d love to skip coffee and just take Jim home to his shoddy little apartment instead. But he’s a gentleman, so he nods. 

"An’ a pastry."

 

 

 

#

Leonard goes back to Jim’s recital the next week, he’s been personally invited nearly twenty times via a litany of iMessages to his iPad, so it’d been rude not to. But he’s also excited, because Jim’s made it clear that this is a date and that there will be an after party.

Of the naked kind.

He’s also quite excited to see what mishap of an outfit Jim pulls off today.

He’s wearing a thin, dark grey cardigan, and a v-neck. Leonard snorts into his coffee and Jim smirks at him. He clears his throat and looks right at Leonard.

"I’ve got a bit of Larkin for you guys tonight, but then I’ve got a hot date with a doctor…" He gives his audience enough time to cheer and wolf-whistle and then adds. "I know right."

Bones shakes his head, smiling despite himself, and listens to Jim recite Larkin’s  _Aubade._ Everything Jim recites sounds beautiful, but this is really something and the crowd are awed into silence. He does a few shorter ones, gets the crowd going and then descends from the stage, weaves through the crowd, takes Leonard by the hand and leads him out of the coffeehouse. 

Jim’s apartment is the epitome of hipster heaven, it’s above a bookstore, the kitchen and bathroom are shared with three other students. His room has books stacked everywhere on the floor, and not just poetry but physics journals and engineering volumes. It’s pretty bare save for the vintage concert posters on the wall and the mattress pushed up against the far corner. 

Bones secretly  _adores_  the place.

 

 

#

And by the time they’ve been dating for five months, the room is a little less bare because it’s full of Bones’ shit too, medical journals, his scrubs, fourteen different flasks he’s been bought over the years, most of them from Urban Outfitters. 

They’re slightly drunk and Jim’s trying to get Bones’ pants off but hes got distracted halfway down the doctor’s abdomen and has started murmuring into Bones’ ribcage. 

“I will remember the kisses, our lips raw with love, and how you gave me everything you had, and how I, offered you what was left of, me.” He starts, flicking his tongue out over Bones’ tanned and freckled skin.

"And I will remember your small room, the feel of you, the light in the window, your records, your books.” Bones counters because these, if any, are his lines to Jim. Although, his recitation is less precise, slightly shaky, but Jim is confident to take over. 

"Our morning coffee, our noons our nights, our bodies spilled together, sleeping, the tiny flowing currents, immediate and forever, your leg my leg, your arm my arm, your smile and the warmth of you, who made me laugh, again.” Jim whispers, kissing up over Bones’ pectoral muscle and down to his sternum. 

“ _Raw With Love_?” Bones questions. “Isn’t it?”

"Yeah." Jim nods, his hair tickling Bones’ chest. 

"You try’na say somthin’, Jim?" Bones questions. 

"Something I’ve been trying to say since the first time you walked into the coffeehouse." Jim admits. "I fucking  _knew_ , Bones, I knew.” 

 

 

 

 


End file.
